


Trust Is A Five Letter Word

by Crazythatcounts



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazythatcounts/pseuds/Crazythatcounts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ples never understood the attraction Veser had to his coat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Is A Five Letter Word

Ples never understood Veser's attraction to the slightly tattered blue coat he always wore. The faded, ratty, finned garment was currently making loops around Ples's dryer, and the man ticked patiently, waiting for the dryer to stop so he may get the thing out. He was sure that the jacket was a brighter blue, at some point, but had faded through the years, wearing a little at the elbows like any good used garment. The fin was nearly falling off the back, and Ples feared that the run through the wash cycle would rip the thing off entirely. The jacket looked as though Veser had never taken the thing off once, and for a hyperbole, Ples decided, it wasn't terribly far off.

Not to say that Veser never removed the jacket, of course. Ples remembered their various adventures in swimming and water sports as a testament to said claim. Veser never swam in the thing – and _boy_ , could he swim, Ples mused – but it wasn't for the fact that the thing could not get wet. It was as much of a raincoat as a windbreaker and a heat-keeping jacket. He also took the thing off in extreme heat, most of the time, though the stains Ples noticed on the inside made it obvious that he kept it on, even then. Otherwise, Veser wore the jacket almost constantly, even sometimes when he slept.

Now, though, the owner of the aforementioned jacket was currently curled up in Ples's bed, wrapped in fresh blankets, soaking wet to the bone, bandaged and asleep. Ples didn't know exactly what happened – when Veser simply appeared at three in the morning covered in mud and blood and mumbling something about pot, second story windows and not getting caught for his roommate's shtick again, Ples hadn't been concerned with taking the time to get a coherent story. He was more concerned with getting Veser into the shower, putting bandages on the various cuts, scrapes and broken noses Veser had obtained, and getting the boy sleeping soundly while his cloths spun in the dryer – but he had a feeling that he would learn in good time. And when it involved Ples, he always had good time.

The dryer dinged, and Ples removed the coat, holding it to his chest to rid the thing of the worst of the scorching heat. He meant to go put it over Veser's shoulders, but as he headed into the next room, he was more distracted in examining the thing closely, now that it was free of mud and blood and other grime. The stitches were tattered, the fin was loose, the elbows nearly had holes, and… the jacket was the softest thing Ples had ever felt. He paused where he was, simply holding it, frozen with semi-delighted surprise. It was naturally soft, worn that way, and it felt much like, well, young fur, except less inclined to make people sneeze. It felt properly loved, if you want to put it right. Ples massaged the material under his hands, thumbs running circles over the blue fabric. It was still warm. It wasn't just warm, it was practically inviting.

With a guilty glance towards the doors, Ples gingerly lifted the jacket over his shoulders and stuck his arms in the sleeves. It was a little short on his arms, his wrists exposed, but it enveloped him in warmth and comfort and he quickly realized why Veser never removed the thing. It felt like a warm blanket on a cold Christmas night; a clean towel just as you get out of the shower; a baby's blanket wrapped around warm, wriggling feet. He pressed the fabric in close, letting the heat wash over him in waves, trying not to let his knees grow too weak from the heat and the _smell_. Surprisingly, it was the smell that got him the most. The thing was a cacophony of smells: it smelled like his detergent – notes of clean freshness on the warm fabric. It smelled like cigarette smoke, tobacco, sunlight and grass. It smelled like salt air, sweet, fresh and clean, and it smelled like the ocean at night, and it had an underlying scent of musk. Like Veser. Ples buried his face in it, feeling much like a cat finding a thing of catnip under the refrigerator.

"Hey, Ples…" The sleepy voice from the door made Ples spin where he was, hands dropping like he hadn't been buried in the boy's jacket and none of that had just happened at all. He saw Veser's eyes go from sleepy, to startled, to alert and tense and very confused, but the boy hadn't moved. He was gripping the doorframe tight enough to turn his knuckles white, porcelain and fragile yet strong and unyielding. "You're wearing my jacket." It wasn't a question, but a statement. A very quiet statement, still leveled with sleep. Not angry, just confused.

Ples's mouth worked to explain why he was wearing the jacket, and came up with nothing suitable. There were several answers to the questions, of course, there were always answers, but Ples couldn't force a single one to sound any better than they did in his head, and they didn't sound that appealing to the selkie in the first place. _Why?_ Ples thought, hands now gripping the jacket at the sleeves lightly, his shoulders exposed. _I'm wearing it because… I was curious. It just got out of the dryer and it's warm. Because it smells like you, you know. It smells so much like you and it was warm, so much like you and it reminded me too much of you to keep it away. Because it was there, right there, and you weren't, and I felt like having a little of you in my arms for just a moment. Just for a moment. I'm holding it because I can't hold you._

Those thoughts wouldn't fly for an explanation, so Ples gripped the coat a little closer and remained silent and guilty, like a puppy that just got caught piddling on the carpet. Guilty, but not really terribly sorry. 

"Hey, it's not _that_ big of a deal." Veser murmured, stepping closer. It seemed he sensed Ples's tense mood and was trying to do his best to get the man to relax a little. The words worked, and Ples let his guard fall just a little. "I'm not pissed. Just caught off guard." Veser added, grinning his toothy, shark-like grin, and Ples smiled back until the words really hit him and a question found itself forming in Ples's mouth before he could think it over. 

"Caught off guard?" Ples asked, trying to relax a little, though that was hard because now that the shock of the distraction of Veser catching him so vulnerable was gone, his mind now could turn back to the coat and it was all he could do to keep from burying his nose back into the sweet smelling fabric and staying like that for a very long time. 

"Yeah, a little." Veser shrugged, like being caught off guard was no big deal. Ples's eyes urged him to continue, and Veser obliged. "Two things hit me. One, I figured out why mom was pissed when dad took her pelt, 'n I realized something else, too." 

"What else did you realize?" The question was quiet, and a good distraction from the coat for the moment, so Ples ran with it. 

"You know I'm like, half selkie, yeah?" Veser asked. It was clear that he was asking to avoid exposition for a later explanation. Ples nodded in understanding. "Yeah, well, that thing's my pelt. Kinda sorta." 

"How is it only kind of?" Ples asked, taking a step closer to Veser, urging him to continue. 

"I mean, I can't go full fucking seal-shark-whatever without it, like my mom, but I can wear it and not turn." Veser tried to explain. It was a complicated matter for a complicated child, and Veser liked it, though he had never really tried to explain it before. Generally, it just was like that, and he rolled with it. "It's weird-ass shit, really. Once again, my parents make my life more fucking complicated, but that's not the point. Point is, it's my fucking pelt. It's that kinda special." 

Ples felt his arms grow a little tighter as he realized the apparent importance of the coat to its owner. He felt like he was suddenly violating some sort of scared thing, wearing the coat that wasn't his, and he quickly made to take it off, give it back, because Veser was probably about to tell him that Ples was the last man on earth he wanted to wear it. But before he could get the thing even off one arm, Veser put his hand on the arm of the jacket to stop him. A brief moment of silence and understanding passed between them. 

"I'm not done." There was no longer a grin on Veser's features, but a thin line of a Mona Lisa smile that was and was not there all at the same time. "And you know what I realized, when I saw you wearing it?" The smile returned, but in a small fashion, kind and trusting and Ples found his breath catch at the fact that he was granted such a thing from the mistreated teen. 

"I realized that I if I _had_ to give it to someone to keep, if I _had_ to pick anyone on the plant to trust it to, it'd be you. You'd be its keeper." 

The words hit Ples very hard, and a smile worked it's way to the older man's face. Veser trusted him with the pelt. It was like… trusting him with a key to an apartment. The next thing Veser knew, thin arms were making their way around him, the jacket now strung out around them both. Ples smiled and buried his head in Veser's hair as inconspicuously as possible, reveling in the warmth and the smell of it all. He reveled in the fact that he didn't need the coat, he could hold Veser and it felt wonderful. Veser hugged back, face pressed into Ples's chest, a grin plastered on his face. 

"I trust you, too." Ples said. His mind spoke what he really wanted to say. 

_I love you too._


End file.
